Time Out of Mind
by Noelie
Summary: QuiGon is dead and Obiwan must tell Noela. Story by DarthIshtar


Time out of Mind

He couldn't honestly remember a time when he had been able to separate the two.

Qui-Gon had not been in love with the woman; their relationship had passed beyond the need for romance even before Qui-Gon passed beyond the pubescent need for hormones. Certainly, she had eventually moved past any romantic inclinations she had ever harbored for him. Three unnecessarily enthusiastic children and a very happy marriage were evidence of that.

Nevertheless, it had been a fact of matter that the former Senator of Alderaan had been almost as much a part of Qui-Gon Jinn's family as Obi-Wan himself. Diplomatic courtesy demanded that he address her as Senator, but today, he had no desire to adhere to diplomatic courtesy.

He owed that much to Noela.

When she opened the door, however, he knew immediately that he didn't have to tell her that Qui-Gon was dead.

Certainly, she might have heard of it on the newscasts, since he had been mentioned with inadequate praise by every sentient capable of caring about Naboo. She might have found the information on the casualty lists that he knew she perused too regularly. 

Knowing her, there was a part of her, the part that Qui-Gon teasingly referred to as her rebellious midichlorian, that had known her loss the moment it had happened.

They had not loved each other, not in the way that most people thought of what passed between a man and a woman of a responsible age, but they had possessed a love that would have not allowed her to ignore when part of her died. 

"You came alone," she said quietly. "I'd hoped to meet this child that Qui-Gon had so much faith in."

There was something inordinately sad in the fact that Qui-Gon had been able to speak to her about Anakin, but had fallen short in his ability to speak civilly on the matter to the young man who was the closest thing that he'd ever sad. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan quashed these feelings and offered a wry smile.

"Even the Chosen One has classes," he said dryly, "and I wasn't interested in making a scene."

"Nor was I," she conceded, turning away from the door to let him pass. "Maybe that's why I asked you to come when the others would be at work or school." 

It was a plausible excuse.

It was not so much in the look in her eyes as she surveyed his face to find a confirmation of the gut-wrenching rumors that kept his tongue.

It was the fact that, for the first time that he could remember, Noela looked _old._ The silver in her golden hair was barely noticeable and she certainly had managed to keep every trace of wrinkles out of the places that could not show laugh lines, but he only had to look into the pale blue of her eyes to recognize a weariness that he had never expected to find.

It was the same expression that he had abhorred in the mirror every day since he had left a reactor chamber in Theed. He did not condemn it, only wished that it had stayed in his own eyes instead of plaguing those Qui-Gon had cared about until the last moment.

"How did you find out?" he asked without further preamble.

"I have my connections in the news," she admitted, crossing to where the familiar decanter of Alderaanian green rested on the side board. "

He was not surprised to find her offering him that wine, much as he hated it. It was simply the vintage that Qui-Gon had presented to her upon the occasion of her wedding in memory of far too many years of sharing the vile concoction.

"I'm not much of a sentimentalist," she said as if reading his mind, "but since I won't be able to..."

His hand wrapped around hers, steadying the trembling in her small hands as he accepted the drink. Their hands were too close in size for him to feel terribly inept in the gesture that was supposed to be something between comfort and substitution. 

Qui-Gon's hands had always engulfed hers, not in a threatening manner, but in the way that reminded them both that, if he had it his way, she would always be completely shielded from harm. 

He was only too strongly reminded of that comparison when that simple gesture inspired the first tears of the encounter. It was the first time he could remember seeing her permit her grief since her newborn daughter had perished in her arms after only five hours of life.

"I'm sorry," he stammered immediately. "I didn't..."

He wasn't sure how to complete that sentence, because it was an instinctive emotional response that he had planned to leave to instinct in the heartbeats that he had contemplated it. 

"Your hands were always different sizes," she said quietly, "but from the way he taught you, I can't tell the difference."

His hands tightened around hers almost without noticing the gesture, but she slid her hands from beneath his and turned to prepare another glass.

"Did I ever tell you about the first time we drank this?" she asked quietly. 

She had only told him about thirty times on various occasions, but he still allowed an indulgent, inviting smile. 

"Alderaan has an age of accountability at seventeen," she started the same way each time, "and since he was four months older, we could take part in it without getting into serious trouble with our respective chaperones."

"And since the Consulate was picking up the tab, you decided to be 'accountable' for a glass of Alderaanian green," he continued, letting the glass rest on the counter.

She glanced up, an accusatorily amused look in her eyes at the familiarity of the routine. "You've heard this before," she reminded.

"I haven't needed to before today," he countered.

It wasn't the customary response of claiming that she told it best, but that was usually Qui-Gon's line. It would be simply indecent to take over that role. 

She turned again and it was unclear as to whether she didn't want to look on something that would remind her of the man who had been her best friend or if she was trying to hide any evidence of her 'making a scene.'

Either way, she remained with her face turned away as he settled into the repulsorchair next to hers.

"I was stupid," she hiccoughed, "and Qui-Gon was indulgent because he thought I needed to learn my lesson."

"He thought you knew what you were doing," Obi-Wan retorted. "He always trusted you."

"He always did," she agreed.

The three words left her in a bit of a sigh as if she were expelling an evil influence, something that she didn't want to be held accountable for.

She could have told the rest of the story then. It was certainly something she would have done given even the slightest encouragement from Qui-Gon.

She could have asked for the details of his death. She could have begged him to confess the pain that Qui-Gon had suffered or to admit his shortcoming in not arriving in time to save his Master.

Instead, she let his mind fill in the blanks and he dared not venture into her thoughts.

Her hands were trembling again, but there was something terribly necessary about this particular instance of grief. 

"_L'amigh, l'qui-gon,_" she whispered to herself before steadying the glass against her lips.

_To my friend. To my Qui-Gon._

Obi-Wan repeated the gesture of toasting, but substituted a word that was more appropriate than any that she could have chosen.

"_L'paj,_" he said instead, "_l'qui-gon._"

_To my father. To my Qui-Gon._

They drained the glasses only by habit born of too many years of saluting the fallen, but it was a long moment before either could speak again.

"We both spoke the truth of him," she admitted at last.

"I wonder if he knew that at the end," he retorted in a voice that barely dared to rise above a whisper.

"That you were the son of his heart?" she voiced what he did not presume to speak.

"He spoke of the boy, not me," Obi-Wan explained.

For the first time since he had let that treasonous thought penetrate his thoughts, there was not even a shadow of bitterness in the statement. There was only a remorse of an unforgivable oversight on his own part.

"He asked that I train him," Obi-Wan reflected, "that I see his mission accomplished. What does that prove?"

"That he spoke in the end of the trust he had as much in you as he did in me."

It was probably the greatest compliment he could hope for, since he had looked upon the friendship of his Master's youth as something that was to be envied, but never rivalled.

Her eyes finally found his before either of them could intend the gesture, but the time for her tears was past before he could properly acknowledge it.

"You aren't arguing with me," Noela observed. "Why?"

_Because it's something Qui-Gon would have said in the voice that left no room for doubt._

"Because it's the first thing that has made sense since he died," Obi-Wan confessed.

And in that moment, the time for his tears finally arrived.


End file.
